inside

I feel my skin
thin sheets of life
draped over bones.
I feel my eyes
hungry from want of life.
I feel my soul
screaming
draped over dreams
that have no voice.
Inside
where the world is so much bigger
I sit and wonder
at the hallow of me.
Is there life still?
Or just these endless fields
of ashen grey
that keeps raining some kind
of thick tired mud?
My fingers trace lines
drawn through the ash
and I wonder
how deep does it go
before I find soild ground
waiting for some seed
to lay down and die
that life may once again grow.
Inside
where there are no obstructions
holding truth captive
I am pale
for want of brilliant light.
My eyes burn
from the ash in the air
bringing tears to the outside world,
from my soul
to the outside world.
Inside
there is just me
a shadow of who
I believed I was
for so long.
A sharp wind reminds me
that inside
the world is grey
at least for a while
until some tomorrow comes
pregant with the seeds of
creative life.